Journey to the Center of StarFan13's Mind
by lapis.santuri
Summary: When the Knight of the Wash runs out of the (almost) unimaginably potent Royal Strength detergent (and all bubbles are breaking loose in the sub-basement of the castle), it's up to Marco and Kelly to track down the only known source in all the dimensions—the unparalleled imagination of. . . StarFan13.
1. The Quest

**Hello everyone! I hadn't seen many Kelly x Marco stories on here, so I wanted to contribute something. Each chapter is going to switch between Kelly and Marco's perspectives as they venture through the untold realms of StarFan13's mind. What mysteries could it hold?**

 **I''m working on my writing style and am trying to improve over the course of the story, so all comments are highly appreciated!**

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Chapter 1: The Quest

It was a bright, clear morning at Butterfly Castle as the sun climbed above the distant mountains to the east, light streaming through the windows to gently rouse the castle's inhabitants from their sleep. All, that is, but for Marco Diaz.

The cactus pajama clad boy was in a deep slumber, oblivious to the morning light after his late night glitter-gathering from the electric sparkle eels that inhabited the moat outside the castle—at Star's behest, of course. Evidently she needed a quantity of it for something "like, super important and super urgent". Depositing a jar of the polychromatic, ominously sparkling stuff outside her door after countless hours (and countless more shocks that zapped across him in agonizing, rainbow colors), Marco had at last breathed a contented sigh and shambled off to his bedroom. His sleep was not to last long, however…

"Marco?" came Star's voice as she knocked gently on his door.

"Mmph," Marco groaned, "No, Mom, I don't know where Dad's electric chest hair shaver went…"

"Marco!" came Star's voice again, her modicum of patience of already eroded.

"Urrgh. Is it stuck in between the sofa cushions like last time?"

"MARCO!"

The door to his room blew forward off its hinges as a narwhal smashed into it, falling inward and leaving the narwhal vertically impaled on the door, swaying back and forth.

"Wha, what? What's going on?" asked the startled boy as he bolted up in bed, taking in his surroundings that now consisted of a flailing narwhal fighting to maintain its poise and a beaming Star bedecked in a shimmering, rainbow-sparking sundress, complete with a matching horns headband.

"Oh, were you still sleeping?" she inquired with a smile, a flickering rainbow current rising between her horn tips that had formed a Jacob's Ladder.

Marco answered with another groan.

"Anyway, thanks for getting all this electric sparkle eel glitter for me. I've got a date with Tom to go watch the nupnups metamorphosing in the Forest of Certain Death today, and it's reeeeally helpful to have eel glitter camouflage if you want to avoid being eaten. How do I look?"

"Electrifying. Haha. . . ha," an awkward chuckle escaping him.

Trying to muster a smile, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of hurt that he'd been kept up all night just to help Star's date with Tom go more smoothly. Struggling, he concealed his emotions.

"You know, you're the best squire a princess could have!" said Star, beaming once again as she went to pat him on the shoulder, a multi-colored spark leaping to the boy and shooting across his body. Electric convulsions racked through his limbs in a painful flashback to the previous night before he collapsed back down onto his bed.

"Oh my God, Marco, are you okay?"

Coughing weakly, he managed to stick out a thumbs up.

"Still breathing. Have fun, Star."

"Okay! Take the day off, Marco, you could use the rest! Byyyyye!" called Star, the laboring narwhal poofing away as she skipped out the now doorless hole in Marco's wall. Sparks trailed behind her.

Wide awake after his untimely electrocution, Marco gave up on the idea of going back to bed. His body was sore from the late night of sparkle eel wrestling behind him, and he instead got up gingerly, taking careful steps as he went to look out of the window. Glancing down towards the gate, he was just in time to see Tom's demon elevator burst from the ground in flames. Tom stepped out in a shimmering suit and tie, grinning as Star pranced up to kiss him on the cheek before she grabbed his hand and yanked him along towards the Forest. Marco could just make out Star crying "Nupnups ahoy!" as their two figures, dazzling in the early morning sunlight, ran alongside each other.

Marco sighed, looking down in despondence at a small cactus on his windowsill. Everything had just been so. . . _complicated_ since Star had confessed her romantic feelings for him. His relationship with Jackie had sputtered out shortly after he returned to Earth, and when he had finally decided that it was Mewni, and his best friend's side, where he ought to be, he found her dating her demon ex-boyfriend Tom. Now he was here, he was her squire, but what was he really to her anymore? They had been best friends, and they would always be close, but the dynamic between them had shifted. She had practically become his boss, and where sharing their intimate thoughts without question had once characterized their relationship, it was now dominated by uncomfortable silences and sensitive topics. And, of course, there was Tom.

He sighed again. This wasn't a problem that could be reasoned out with cool logic, no matter how much he wished it could be. Moving to the center of his room, Marco began to stretch, warming up to practice karate. The martial art always managed to leave him calm and centered, and his stiff muscles would appreciate the exercise, too.

After a few series of jabs, elbow strikes, and roundhouse kicks, Marco was grinning in spite of himself. It was a beautiful day, and he was feeling surprisingly good. Plus, with the day off to himself, he could do whatever he pleased. Changing into his customary black jeans and red hoodie, he began to wander the castle, and his mind wandered with him. He was happily lost in simple thoughts, and he passed by the kitchen to grab some cornbread as he wondered what sort of possibilities the day held.

Visiting Hekapoo to see his dragon cycle, Nachos, crossed his mind, but he shuddered when he remembered the iciness of their last encounter. It hurt him to hear her say that they would no longer work together after she discovered that he had been covering up for the portals Star was creating in her sleep. Ah, Star, he thought, and his mind began its slow, well-trodden spiral into the labyrinth of emotions surrounding her. And there, prowling the maze with a grin on its face, was a three-eyed minotaur wreathed in flames.

Fortunately, it was at just that moment that Marco heard a monstrous squeal come from the stairs leading to the lower levels of the castle, followed by someone bellowing, "For Mewni!" His mind suddenly yanked from its unhappy reverie, he ran down the stairs at top speed, every step punctuated by the clamoring sounds of a skirmish below. Rounding the final bend of the spiraling staircase, he found himself at the door to the Royal Laundry Room. He crashed through with a flying kick that sent splinters flying, landing with his karate hands at the ready. Above him was the Knight of the Wash, Sir Lavabo, his chest pinned down on the edge of the massive wash basin by the hoof of what looked like an oversized wild boar made of chunks of gelatin, gristle, and grease. A blue, cape-like object was stuck to its back, and large, yellowish globs flew in all directions as it reared its unsightly, semi-translucent head.

"Marco Díaz! Brave squire!" Called the Knight, relief rising in his deep voice of Spanish accent. Raising both his arms, he grabbed the beast by its jutting tusks while tucking his knees into his chest, then pulled down with his arms while thrusting both legs up into its belly, throwing its hulking form over himself where it splattered on the floor below, globules of the fiend bouncing off in all directions.

The Knight leapt from the basin and somersaulted to the floor, landing a few paces in front of Marco.

"Squire Marco, I have an urgent mission of utmost importance for you. As the only other living soul to enter the Royal Lint Catcher and return alive, I fear that I can trust only you with this task." Marco gulped, remembering the last time someone had told him about an urgent, important task.

"Thanks, Sir Lavabo, but it looks like you've got things handled here! I think I'm just gonna—"

"No, Squire Marco," interrupted the Knight, "the Royal Laundry Room is in dire crisis. There are but a few drops of Royal Strength detergent remaining, and I am needed here to clean this particularly demonic stain on one of the King's meat blankets. Look now! Already it reforms!" Gesturing behind himself, the gristly orbs were rolling back to the splatter site, congealing once more into a malevolent, wobbling mass. "If the supply is not replenished, yet further terrors shall emerge from the castle's dirty linens! There will be no fighting them!"

As if to voice its agreement with the silver-bearded Sir Lavabo, the reformed beast let out a bloodcurdling squeal and pawed the ground, the last of its oily globs returning and rolling up its legs.

Goosebumps rose on Marco's flesh, and he could feel the nape of his neck tighten. This was no foe to face lightly, and respect rose in his breast for the weathered Knight who had spent so many decades in the never-ending struggle for pure, clean, and fresh-smelling linens.

"Alright," cried Marco, his determination overpowering his fear, "Where do I find the detergent?!"

"The thing you have to know about Royal Strength detergent," the Knight yelled, grabbing his lance as he sprinted towards the charging beast, "is that it is unimaginably strong! For most people, that is. . ."

Saying so, the Knight vaulted himself over and onto the beast, landing on its rump. His voice shaking up and down as the boar leapt about, he continued, "Royal Strength detergent can only be found in an unparalleled imagination! At present, we know of only one in all the dimensions."

By now, the beast was beginning to sizzle with rage, oil painting the walls at every loud pop. The scent of bacon filled the room. The Knight's armor began to warm, and he slid off the boar lest he fry in his shell.

Backing away slowly, he said, "That someone is a human—an Earth girl I believe you know by the name of StarFan13. You will find the detergent at the bottom of Shipwreck Cove. But take caution! It is an unstable dimension, and there is no telling what horrors may lurk within it! Now go!"

"I understand. I will be back, Sir Lavabo!"

As Marco sprinted from the room, the last thing he saw was the Knight of the Wash slide-tackling the boar as he roared, "I've got you now, you sebaceous scum!"

Reaching the top of the stairs, Marco panted, collecting his thoughts. He'd very nearly died on the first quest Sir Lavabo had sent him on, and he'd even had Star as backup. If he was going to make it through this quest alive, he'd need someone he could trust. Someone who could fight. Someone who wasn't Star. That only left. . . Her.

Marco smiled.

"Hey, Kelly. Yeah, it's Marco. Listen, I've got a favor to ask. . ."

Here ends Chapter 1.

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 **Thanks for reading! Comments are incredibly motivational, so drop a line if you like! Cheers!**

 **-Lapis**


	2. Grog & Grits

**Hey everyone, my apologies for slight delays in this chapter's publication. In general, I'm going to aim for a new chapter every week, but we'll see how that goes. In this chapter: Kelly visits Grog & Grits, tavern of a certain secret. The stage is set with this chapter's conclusion, and the real journey to the center of StarFan13's mind begins with the next.**

 **Until then, happy reading!**

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Chapter 2: Grog & Grits

The forest was cool and quiet, a blanket of fog and pine needles softening the step of a lone figure that leapt through the night. Drifting between breaks in the canopy, the occasional patch of crystalline starlight shimmered down to a reveal a shock of hair, a spectral greenish-grey under its ethereal spell, before it would vanish beyond sound and sight.

While her body flew along in subtle harmony with the landscape, her breaths rising and falling with the foothills, Kelly's mind whirred about like a hummingbird searching for nectar, checking this thought and that, trying to find answers to the questions that had plagued her since her split with Tad. It was strange ending things with him, _really_ ending them. They'd been together for so long that she'd started to think in the plural without even realizing it—what do _we_ want to have for dinner? When are _we_ going to go to Galafamor like we've always been talking about? Now, it was just her, and it felt like she'd forgotten what _she_ even wanted. An image of herself in a detective's peacoat and deerstalker cap floated into her mind. " _Have you seen this girl?_ " the detective barked, holding a picture of Kelly before her eyes. The girl winced, and she ran a bit faster.

Coming now upon the outskirts of a quiet farming village, her mind came back to the present, into the smell of woodsmoke and through the gaps between the small stone cottages glowing with warmth. In the distance glimmered the domed towers of Butterfly Castle, the Mewnian moons like marbles cast above it, and she felt a familiar sense of ease spread across her as she neared her destination. Rising in front of her was a sprawling tavern, a refuge of revelry in the town's after hours. A chipped wooden sign nailed above the entrance read "Ye Olde Grog & Grits". Taking a breath in, she slid off the tie around her hair and let it fall into a twisting jungle around her. She swiftly appeared more like a sentient bush than a teenage girl, her large, bespectacled eyes poking through her curtains of hair. Her adrenaline already spiking, she absorbed her surroundings in high detail as she walked forward and stepped through the swinging saloon doors.

Kelly was greeted with a wall of aromas—first the warm, sweet smell of roasted corn, then the sour mingling of fermented grains and unmopped vomit seeping through the smoky musk of bodies that had labored under the sun. Large, iron braziers mounted on the walls blazed next to stuffed boar heads. It had atmosphere.

Grog & Grits formed a common watering hole, a place to drink and relax after a hard day's work, but the old tavern's location on the outskirts of town near the Forest of Certain Death was not coincidental. In truth, the rustic establishment had another base of customers: monsters. While the relationship between mewmans and monsters had never been easy, if there was ever a place for the two to get along, it would be at Grog & Grits over a pint of corn ale. So it was that the diminutive green bush attracted little attention as it shuffled toward the barman, it being merely one of an oddment of creatures patronizing the establishment. As it were, however, the place had yet another reputation. . .

Kelly stood motionless before the barman, a swarthy mewman with a thick, sandy beard. Taking in the sight of her, the barman chuckled. "So, we've even got little bushes showing up for a pint these days, eh! What'll ya have, little bush? Grog or grits?"

Kelly blinked, remembering what Jorby had told her.

"Is. . . that a blink for grog or a blink for grits?"

Kelly blinked again, remaining motionless.

"Now listen, you either order something or get out!"

The barman walked around the counter and reached out to put on a hand on her, but in a fluid motion Kelly sidestepped left while reaching into the hair above her forehead with her right hand, pulling her sword out and swinging it in a harmless clockwise slash before changing her grip at twelve o clock and slamming it into the wooden floor between her and the man. Several eyes were on the small bush-girl now, not all of them pairs, and the barman glanced nervously at her wide, nicked blade. He gulped, then shot her a knowing smile, saying, "I think you'll want to inquire over yonder, love." He pointed to a plain wooden door with a mop and bucket resting against it, then went to fill another pitcher of ale. The scuffle concluding without incident, the barfolk returned to their drinks in disappointment.

Slivers of wood flew into the air as she tore her sword from the ground, delicately replaced it in her hair, and approached the door. She wondered at the fact that the filthy place even owned a mop, but moved it aside. Placing her hand on the knob, the door swung inward to reveal a small supplies closet lit by a single, burning candle that flickered as the breeze from the door blew across it. The door clicked shut behind her, and Kelly relaxed as she found herself alone, pulling her hair back and fastening it once more.

Her eyes adjusting, she scanned the closet, but found nothing out of the ordinary—mostly baskets of cornmeal and barrels of grog—so why had the barman sent her here? Striding forward to grab the candle, a hollow thud beneath her foot gave her reason to pause. She crouched low with a sudden intensity, grazing the weathered grain of the wood with her fingertips until they alighted upon a crack. Tracing the groove revealed it to be a large square, and she located a small, metal handle on the side closest to the door. She was getting close. She could feel it.

Kelly heaved the cellar door open, and lowered it gently to the floor. A musty cellar smell wafted upwards, but there was something else, too—dried sweat, perhaps? All she could see as she gazed down was a rickety ladder leading into darkness. The girl simply smiled and began her descent. The ladder wasn't long, and at the bottom was a hard, packed earth tunnel with regularly placed torches lighting the way. She sped down the passage, feeling her anticipation growing with every step, and her mind drifted to how she had come to be here.

Since her breakup with Tad, Kelly had been spending more and more time with her truck-sized wolf beast sparring partner Jorby. Though she had always been a talented sword fighter, she had begun to attack with a skill and determination that were rapidly outpacing his abilities. In their most recent match, Kelly had defeated him in no more than a few seconds. Reading his feinting left swipe and twirling through his guard in the split second it opened, she poised the tip of her sword against his throat. "Gotcha!" she teased.

Jorby choked up. "I'm going to need remedial lessons with, like, Greg! _Greg_! But Kelly, you need a new sparring partner!"

"Ahh, Jorby! I'm sure if we keep sparring. . ."

"No, Kelly!" he said with an ironic smile, "The universe. . . is in a constant state of chaos and decay; even our sparring is subject to the laws of entropy." He sighed. "But listen, there's, like, this bar, Grog & Grits? If you go there and just, like, don't say anything, you'll totally find some amazing matches. I can kill you another day."

"Thanks, Jorby. I look forward to that," she replied, gratitude twinkling behind her glasses as she hugged him around his neck. She'd left that very night, something deep in her breast pulling her towards the place.

Her mind snapped back into the the tunnel as she turned a corner to find a troll, and she came skidding to a halt inches from its rusted breastplate. The monster glowered at her from above, effectively blocking every inch of the passage with its substantial girth.

"Password!" the troll demanded in a deafening tone, its chins set to trembling under the force.

Kelly remained still once again, only a blink escaping her.

"PASSWORD!" It screamed even louder, and a whitish froth began to form on its protruding, yellow lower canines.

She held her silence and prayed that Jorby's instructions were right.

The troll's rage slowly settled, and it gazed appreciatively at her. "Correct answer," it rasped, "Welcome to the Monsters and Mewmans Fighting Association, or MMFA for short." It squeezed itself back and to the side, revealing a wide, rectangular room lit by blazing chandeliers that looked as though they'd been built out of decommissioned medieval torture devices. Stacked barrels of ale had been pushed against the walls. Gathered in the center of the room was a motley and mismatched crowd whooping zealously as they watched a match. Their hulking forms obscured the fighters, so Kelly ran into the fray. Bobbing and weaving, she dodged around a trampling warnicorn here, slid under a flaming eyeball there, and soon popped out onto the edge of the action.

The cheering crowd had formed a ring, and Kelly sized up the fighters as they circled each other. Fighting on the left was a large, muscular, mewmanoid creature whose deep indigo body was covered in black and white bullseyes. As she watched, however, the bullseyes seemed to flicker in a random sequence, and she realized that the being's arms, back, and shirtless torso were, in fact, covered in blinking eyes. Stuck to his camouflage cargo pants was a large name tag reading "Swifteye". An eye the size of a goose egg lay just above his nose, spiky black hair falling into V's on either side of it.

On her right was a being that first looked like a levitating boa constrictor, but she soon saw that it was actually a pixie no taller than a large maple leaf, its left arm transfigured into an absurdly large monster tentacle. The tentacle was a murky green with dark purple splotches on the top, and the bottom was a pale lavender with cotton candy suckers. It could have been her imagination, but she would have sworn she saw the flash of a grin on the tentacle's belly, razor sharp teeth lurking inside. She could just make out its own tag reading "Tentapix". Circling, Tentapix swam through the air in zig-zag, morphing, fractal-like patterns that were impossible to read.

Spiraling surreptitiously to the ceiling, Tentapix began to coil into a tight ball. It sprang suddenly at the eye creature's throat with ferocious speed, but its opponent had already disappeared, reacting to the attack with reflexes bordering on prescience.

Ducking beneath the tentacle, Swifteye leaped towards the pixie at its base, fingers outstretched. A hair's breadth from having a vice grip on the pixie, the eye creature felt a suctioning around its ankle. Kelly was enthralled. The tentacle couldn't touch Indigai thanks to his razor-sharp reflexes and absence of blind spots, so it had lured the creature into the air to take advantage of the one blindspot it was sure of—beneath the creature's feet. With a flex of its tentacle, the pixie cracked the other monster back down to the packed earth floor where it lay still. A small goblin in a pointy wizard hat jumped into the ring by the eye monster's side.

"One! Two! Three!" the goblin cried, the crowd screaming for him to get up.

The eye monster struggled to push itself from the ground, but the eyes on its back were swaying in random directions, and his skin was turning a sickly chartreuse.

"Four! Five! Aaaaand, you're out!" The goblin wizard levitated him to his feet and materialized a pair of crutches beneath his arms. The monster managed a slow hobble into the crowd, and cheers rose to greet him. With a toothy smile, he croaked, "I'm going to have, like, fifty black eyes tomorrow."

But then, the ring was empty. Kelly's eyes glazed into stars and her mouth fell open as she stared into its unoccupied splendor. Before she'd realized it, she was standing in the center. The bustle after the last match was beginning to die down, and a rough looking crowd of warnicorns with pierced horns at the front were sizing her up. Kelly smiled in their direction.

"Sooo, how does a girl get a match around here?" she asked brightly as she stretched her quadriceps. "Just snarl at my favorite fighter?" She bared her delicate fangs in mock grimace at the largest of the warnicorn gang. He was wearing a tight-fitting jean jacket with a patch reading "Tramplin' Terrors" and an illustration of two horseshoes and a horn formed into a dollar sign. A name tag pinned to the sleeve read "Stabbin' Steve". The burly warnicorn sauntered into the ring with a lazy trot, looking as nonchalant as a seven foot tall beast with veins popping from its walls of muscles could.

Coming to a stop before Kelly, he stood on his back legs while crossing his fore, his jean jacket straining as he flexed his hypertrophic pecs. The crowd's cheers fell to a hush as they realized who the fighters were. The poor shrub girl had chosen the wrong opponent.

Giving a thorough glance around the ring above Kelly's head, the warnicorn sneered. "Well, ain't that funny. I coulda sworn I'd heard a little bush talkin' too big for its roots," and his gang behind him started to to snigger. He shot a glance down towards the girl to check that his taunt had reached home, but she had vanished. Suddenly there was a gasping from behind him, and the warnicorns were stuttering, "B-b-boss, boss!" Giving a withering look over his shoulder to silence them, he came face to upside down face with the vanished girl.

While Steve had been jeering, Kelly had dived to the warnicorn's side in a somersault, her forest of hair muffling the sound of her roll, before springing behind him as she planted her sword in the ground, letting her momentum carry her into an inverted pirouette on its rounded pommel. She came to a spinning stop in a handstand on her hilt and grinned down his long nose. "You were saying?" she asked innocently.

His surprised eyes glittered with contempt, but as he whirled around to face her, he came crashing to the hard earth floor. Horror dawned on him as he realized too late what had happened—the girl had pinned his tail when she'd stuck her sword in the ground! He could just make her out perched on her sword from where he had fallen, and the next thing he knew, she had leapt into the air like a luchador going in for a finishing flying tackle. Then, all he could see was black.

Standing over the brazen warnicorn, Kelly let the exhilaration wash over her. The goblin wizard leaped into the ring once again, giving half a glance to the warnicorn before crying, "K.O.!" A mountain of cheers erupted after a moment of silence thick as butter, but some merely stood in open guffaw. Stabbin' Steve? Beaten in instants by a teenage girl that looked like a phosphorescent hedge? Who on Mewni was she? The goblin wizard looked up to Kelly and asked in a voice of reverence, "Pray tell, newcomer, what is your name?"

"Oh, I'm just Ke—" She paused, noticing the silence as the crowd clung to her words, and the corners of her mouth pricked up at their edges. "You can call me the Green Ghost," she said, and the goblin wizard extended his arm towards her, a name tag reading "Green Ghost" appearing in his hand with a puff of brisket-smelling smoke. Kelly pinned it to the hem of her pink and white striped sweater. Suddenly, she gave an amused laugh. "I guess getting a match really _is_ as easy as a well-aimed snarl!"

She looked around the room with her teeth bared in a broad smile to expressions of terror, but, except for the warnicorns, whose hooves were shaking so badly that they sounded like over-caffeinated tap dancers, there was thrill, too. Battle-axe wielding trolls, squelching larva beasts, barking walrus-kangaroo hybrids, and, to her surprise, an unassuming potted cactus lined the ring around her. Chandelier flames flickered upon her glasses. It was going to be a fun night.

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Kelly gave a contented sigh as she left Grog & Grits early the next morning, coming out of the supplies closet just as the barman finished stacking the chairs on to tables and had begun to mop.

"Oi! If it i'n't the little bush girl!" he laughed, "How was yer night, poppet?"

Kelly simply smiled at him, winked, and walked out the bar's swinging doors.

As she jogged back to her house in the pre-dawn light, her mind was floating on warm, simple thoughts. No matter how confusing life got, there would always be one thing she knew she loved. Reflecting back on her night, a hint of a smirk crept onto her face as she recalled her matches. Monsters and mewmans alike had failed to push her much farther than Jorby could (though the cactus had almost given her a run for her money), and Kelly was no closer to finding a new sparring partner. She began to wonder where ever she would find such a person, but the thought soon vanished into a yawn.

The small cottage in the woods she called home appeared below as she passed over a small ridge and into a hidden glen. Tiptoeing around to the back, she climbed through her bedroom window so as not to wake her parents and stretched her arms lazily to the ceiling. She took off her boots and glasses, changed into her corn cob pajamas, and swiftly slid beneath the covers of her bed, drifting into peaceful reveries. Her sleep was not to last long, however. . .

 _Aaaaawesoooome feeeliiiiiiing!_

 _Nothing's gonna take us down!_

Kelly bolted upright in bed as the hit Love Sentence song came blasting out of her hair. "Wha, what? What's going on?" she asked, startled awake. Her phone continued its full volume rampage as her sleep-befuddled brain groped its way back to reality.

 _At first I turned my head, but then_

 _You really turned my day around!_

 _Aaaaawesoooome feeeliiiiiiing!_

Kelly at last realized that her phone was ringing and reached into her hair. "I've really got to stop leaving my volume on maximum," she sighed, but her mouth rose into a cupcake smile as she glanced at the caller ID.

"Hello? Is that you, Marco?"

Here ends Chapter 2.

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 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Feedback is incredibly motivational, so if you like the story, feel free to drop a line! Cheers!**

 **-Lapis**


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